


The Deck

by ruff_ethereal



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 16:29:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6863065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruff_ethereal/pseuds/ruff_ethereal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Reinhardt and Torbjorn argue over building the new deck in their backyard, Lena and Hana watch, and their shy neighbour Zenyatta debates asking to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Deck

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this picture by autisticsashanein on tumblr: http://autisticsashanein.tumblr.com/post/144367763018/just-a-couple-of-grandpas-and-granddaughters
> 
> A part of the "Overlook"/"Neighbourhood Watch" AU which reimagines the cast of Overwatch as living in a suburb, and making most of them teenagers or preteens.

“Will ya just let me build the damn deck?!” Torbjörn yelled.

“Will it be with my assistance, or will you take on this entire task by yourself?” Reinhardt asked, a scowl on his face.

“Oh, no, I'll make sure to consult with you and ask if we're— _of course I'm going to do this whole job by myself! I'm_ the engineer whose spent pretty much my whole life building and fixing things!”

“And _I_ was the one who helped haul all of this wood from the store and into our backyard! I helped start this project, I will stay with it until it is finished.”

“I'll make sure to say no to you every time you offer to help me carry something from now on, then!”

“Don't be a fool about this, Torbjörn.”

“Funny you call me that when _you_ started this whole argument.”

“I'm only trying to help! What's so foolish about that?”

“'Help' assumes having you around lets this job get done quicker or better!”

Reinhardt's grip on his hammer tightened. “Why I never...”

The heated words stopped, if only because the two men were now giving each other heated glares, so powerful the air between them seemed to smoulder.

From the door leading back into the house, Lena smiled as she watched her two “grandfathers” argue. Lounging on the completed sections of the deck, Hana rolled her eyes, sipping on her soda as she made sure the two of them didn't get into a fistfight again. Peering over the fence separating their two yards, Zenyatta watched and debated if he should step in and help.

Arguments were not new in the Lindholm household. In fact, Zenyatta would have been much more concerned if he _didn't_ hear the sound of one or more of the occupants engaged in a verbal confrontation of some sort; however paradoxical it seemed, their constant bickering over the smallest things seemed to be their primary means of expressing affection and strengthening their bonds with one another.

(Just another one of those mysteries of organics he would have to meditate quite a bit more on, it seemed.)

However, this particular argument didn't seem like the kind that would be resolved when someone decided to take the higher ground and sacrifice their personal desire for the sake of their relationship with the others, they would decide that the matter was not worth arguing over and leave to do some other thing that would spark less conflict, or someone would find some sort of middle ground that, while not perfect, at least ensured that no one would complain about being completely shortchanged.

No, this argument started to feel like the kind that would bring Officer Morrison over in his squad car—and those visits _never_ ended well.

Suddenly, the tension disappeared, as if the both of them had suddenly run out of metaphorical steam.

Reinhardt sighed and put down his hammer. “Torbjörn, you should know that I am not a moron; I am perfectly competent in matters such as these,” he said calmly.

“I know you are, Reinhardt,” Torbjörn replied, “but the fact of the matter is, I'm not gonna take a job done 'good enough' when I can make sure it's 'done right.'”

“Well can't you just guide me, teach me how exactly to build this deck 'right'?” Reinhardt countered, getting angry all over again.

“Doesn't matter if you have the know-how—you don't have the skilled hands to back it up!”

“Well you're going to need my help, whether you like it or not,” Reinhardt huffed.

“Oh? And why's that, if you'd like to enlighten me?”

Reinhardt got up to his full height, raising the hammer so high up into the air that even someone of roughly the same height as his would have trouble getting it. “Because I have the hammer,” he said, grinning down victoriously at Torbjörn.

Lena chuckled, Hana shook her can and guessed how much soda was left in it.

Torbjörn growled, not even bothering to reach up—it was immediately obvious he wouldn't even come close. “What happened to 'fighting fair,' huh? The 'ideals, morals, and virtues of a bygone era' and all that dreck you're supposed to live by?”

Reinhardt laughed. “It's not as if you haven't been blessed by nature yourself—I'm sure you can figure out some way to get what you want.”

Torbjörn smiled. “Hmm, good idea!”

Zenyatta watched as Torbjörn stomped on Reinhardt's toes. He seemed to quickly regret wearing open-toed sandals that day, as even with soft slip-on shoes, Torbjörn had _very_ big feet attached to _very_ muscular legs.

Hana pulled her legs back as the hammer fell out of Reinhardt's hand and thunked against the deck. Lena tried to keep herself from laughing too hard.

Torbjörn scuttled forward and grabbed the hammer. “Haha! Victory!” He cried as he ran deeper into the backyard, brandishing his tool like a war trophy.

“Why you little--!” Reinhardt growled before he hobbled after him, the toes of one foot throbbing red.

Hana sighed. “Don't hurt Uncle Torbjörn, grandpa!” She yelled. “We already have enough visits from Officer Morrison this week!”

Zenyatta watched as Torbjörn and Reinhardt chased each other around the yard, the former laughing like a maniac, the other with murder in his eyes; the whole scene felt much more appropriate for two young boys below the age of ten, than two grown men whose hair had already turned white and grey.

“Got you!” Reinhardt cried as he grabbed Torbjörn by his vast stomach and raised him high up into the air.

“No you don't!” Torbjörn shot back as his short legs flailed in the air.

Zenyatta's optic sensors zoomed on the claw hammer still in Torbjörn's hands. There were so many possibilities for an accident involving it, and all of them had a trip to the emergency room as their inevitable conclusion.

He had his reservations, but he reminded himself that Buddhism was ultimately about taking action, not thinking about what you could have done.

“Excuse me,” he said.

His voice was barely louder than his default setting—a whisper, compared to how loud his neighbours were—but the unexpectedness of it all seemed to be enough to catch their attention.

Lena waved, Hana looked at him before turning her attention back to the men, Reinhardt kept Torbjörn aloft, while Torbjörn's expression soured.

“What do you want, Tinman?!” He yelled.

“I would like to offer my assistance in your project,” Zenyatta replied. “Perhaps Mr. Wilhelm will carry and set the boards, I will pick up the nails and place them, and you will hammer them in? My optics are very accurate and can make sure that every one is where it is supposed to be, and accidentally hammering my fingers will be much less painful than with either of you.”

Reinhardt smiled. “A well-thought arrangement—I happily accept your assistance, friend.”

Torbjörn balked. “ _Friend?!_ Are you really going to let that Tinman work on our house, _where our granddaughters live?_ ”

“One, he is an Omnic, and two, he has shown us nothing but kindness since he moved in,” Reinhardt said as he put Torbjörn down. “I see no reasonable basis to reject his help, and in fact, think it'd be rude to.”

Torbjörn threw his hands up. “I don't believe this!” He turned to Lena and Hana. “ _Girls_ , c _an you believe this?!”_

“Yes,” Hana replied flatly, before she pulled her bendy straw out and tilted the very last bit of soda in her can into her mouth.

He shook his head at her, before turning to Lena. If there was any time where he didn't have that perpetual frown on his face, it was with his “granddaughter.”

Lena smiled apologetically. “'Fraid I'm gonna have to side with 'em for this one, Uncle Torbjörn.”

Torbjörn angrily thrust the hammer into Reinhardt's hand. “Fine! But I'm double-checking everything when it's done! _You hear that, Tinman?!”_ He yelled at Zenyatta. “You try and put in traps, weaken the boards so they fall right on through, or secret entrances into our house, I'm going to find them, foil 'em, and make _sure_ you know it so you know that however smart you are, you can't beat the thinking machine nature gave me!” He tapped his head, before he stormed inside.

For a few moments, the only sound was his stomping on the hardwood floors, and the basement door opening before he slammed it shut. Silence reigned, before Zenyatta turned to Lena, an uneasy frown on his face.

“Our… enlightenment seems to have affected him deeply,” he said.

“Eh, he's always been plenty paranoid,” Lena said. “So, feel free to hop on over the fence, or go round to our side of yard, if'n you want to take the long way!” She said, smiling. “Don't think you'd enjoy ice cold lemonade like we do, but I'm sure Uncle Torbjörn won't mind if we spare you a few quarts of motor oil!” She said as she headed back in.

“Grab me a new soda from the fridge, too!” Hana added.

“Hana!” Reinhardt cried. “Say 'please.'”

Hana sighed. “Fine. Grab me a new soda from the fridge, too, please!”

Reinhardt smiled. “Better.” He turned to Zenyatta and raised his hammer. “Well, friend? What say you and I finally get to finishing this deck?”

Zenyatta smiled back. “I shall be there as quickly as I can.”

The deck was finished in time for them to lounge on it as afternoon was beginning to give way to evening. Tolbjorn spent the rest of the day examining every single inch of it, top and bottom, looking for unstable boards, a hidden trap or tunnel into their home, or a too wide gap in between the planks, but from the way he hadn't ripped up the deck and redid the whole thing himself like he was grumbling the whole time, he couldn't find any.

He said he hadn't done it was because he had more important things to focus his energies on, no one pointed out how he wasn't shy to use the 'good enough' deck, and all was peaceful in their neck of Overlook.

… Sans the regular arguments and shouting matches, but those were normal.


End file.
